


The Backroom

by agoodpersonrose, fairmanor



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Boys In Love, Canon Divergence, David Rose Loves Patrick Brewer, Decorating, Episode: s04e06 Open Mic, Episode: s04e07 The Barbecue, Episode: s04e13 Merry Christmas Johnny Rose, Episode: s05e03 The Plant, Fluff, M/M, Patrick Brewer is Gay, Rose Apothecary (Schitt's Creek), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, moving in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:02:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25224319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agoodpersonrose/pseuds/agoodpersonrose, https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairmanor/pseuds/fairmanor
Summary: “Um…Patrick?” David sing-songs, battling with the tone of his voice. While Patrick knows all too well that David is easily worked up about things, David is still very much not ready to let him feel the full thwack of David Rose’s Displeasure.“Yeah?”“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this delightful little –wait, how is it shaped like that– this thing, in the backroom, would you?”A chronological audit of Rose Apothecary’s backroom and all its decorations.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 22
Kudos: 167





	The Backroom

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone! This fic was written by @justwaiting23 and @fairmanor. We started playing around with the idea of David and Patrick treating the backroom like their own little home before they got an apartment, and much silliness and fluff ensued. We hope you enjoy!

* * *

_Item: One Couch, Used_

* * *

It starts with a couch.

The sight of it hits David like a particularly large piece of roadkill might. If that roadkill were $25 and covered in pale green faux brocade that looked like it had been held in solitary confinement since the 70s. Someone had clearly been cruel enough to drag it out of its ditch, all poking springs and the kind of shamefully threadbare fibers that one might expect. It’s a frayed, dodgy old thing, with a concerningly sunken middle and such a strong mothball scent that David can almost chew it.

But it’s a couch, and that’s where it starts.

Well, that’s not strictly true. It starts with a half-hickey and three more awkward run-ins with Stevie before Patrick decides that there needs to be a bit more of a defined space between their work area and their breaktime.

“Um…Patrick?” David sing-songs, battling with the tone of his voice. While Patrick knows all too well that David is easily worked up about things, David is still very much not ready to let him feel the full thwack of David Rose’s Displeasure.

“Yeah?”

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this delightful little – _wait, how is it shaped like that –_ this _thing,_ in the backroom, would you?”

Patrick rounds the corner into the backroom. The shit-eating grin on his face says it all.

“Why, is there something wrong with it, David?” Patrick says.

David growls in frustration, flailing his arms at the offensive furniture. “It looks like it belongs in the dilapidated beach house of a suburban wine mom going through a mid-life crisis!”

Patrick snorts. “You know, now that I think about the woman I bought it from, that might not be too far from the truth.”

“Would you care to tell me what it’s doing in our space?”

Now it’s Patrick’s turn to look exasperated. Before David had left for the hour to get lunch, which is when Patrick had snuck the couch in, Stevie had just caught them for the fourth time. To be honest, she’d barely batted an eyelid. She’d just swiped some shampoo bars as compensation and let them get on with it.

“I thought we could do with a bit more life back here,” Patrick explains.

“Okay, nothing about this –” David circles a hand round the couch – “is particularly screaming _life_ right now.”

“It’s a start! We tried keeping work and…relaxation separate, and it didn’t work. So whenever we wanna chill, or nap back here, or, y’know…”

David’s face is stone. “No.”

“What?”

“Absolutely not.”

Patrick’s grin has collapsed into proper laughter. David wants to punch him and also maybe have him on this stupid couch right now.

“I am _not_ going to degrade myself to such a disgusting piece of –”

David sinks down into it.

“Oh. That’s – that’s quite comfortable, actually,” he mumbles.

“Mm-hm?”

“Mmkay, but you haven’t won.”

“That woman and I hauled this couch right past the Café window, through the door and into the backroom in _less than an hour_ without you noticing. I think you’ll find I’ve definitely won.”

Patrick flops down onto the other side of the couch. He makes an exaggerated show of relaxing.

“Want me to get you some tea while you rest, my liege?” David mocks.

Patrick looks at his watch, then looks at David. “Give it five minutes.”

He pulls David in for a messy kiss, broken with laughter and the squeak of old springs. It’s quite a while before they get back up again. And when they do, it’s because they need to hastily redress at the sound of the bell above the door.

“I’m warning you,” David murmurs between a final taste of Patrick’s lips. ‘Only on _very_ necessary occasions.’

“Hmm. But just like, sleeping, though, right?”

“Absolutely.”

* * *

_Item: Cushions, from Home_

* * *

“Um, David?” Patrick shouts as he heads into the backroom for the first time since his boyfriend arrived at work (twenty minutes late, but that’s pretty good by his standards).

There’s no response, so Patrick heads around the curtain and pokes his head out to find David in the corner stacking up candles on the display.

“David?” he repeats, “what’s all this?”

“What’s all what?” David replies, too quickly to be discreet, and decidedly looking away from Patrick at the chamomile candles in his hand.

“You know what. Isn’t that one of the pillows from your bed?”

“It’s only the little one?” David says quietly. “It’s not like I went out and bought a pillow for the couch, because we agreed that the couch was only for necessary occasions when we have no other choice.”

“So, where did the other two cushions come from?” Patrick asks with fake confusion.

“Okay, so they were actually a really good deal. I got a free one if I bought one, Patrick!”

“Ah, of course.” Patrick pauses a second for dramatic effect, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame with a curious look on his face. “That doesn’t answer my question, though; why are there suddenly cushions in the back room?”

“There’s also a blanket,” David mumbles.

“– and a blanket. Why do we have cushions and a blanket in the back room, David?”

David waves his hands around defensively, narrowly missing the box of candles which almost meets its untimely demise at the cost of his dramatics.

“I don’t know, you tell me!”

“What –?”

“You’re the one that fell asleep on it the other night, looking all cute and shivering. I just thought that even if that isn’t going to become a pattern, we should at least be prepared in case it happens again.”

Patrick softens, his shoulders slumping, as he pulls his signature fond face reserved just for David.

“That’s very good of you, David,” he says.

David ignores the obvious attempt to wind him up and rolls his eyes, allowing his arms to go automatically to Patrick’s shoulders as he approaches him from across the room and steps into his personal space.

“So, the cushions can stay?”

“The cushions can stay, David.”

It turns out the cushions almost immediately come in useful, as they find that evening. They close the store but are unwilling to separate to go to their own houses. Instead, David flops onto the couch like a fish on dry land, pouting at Patrick and making grabby hands at him until he joins him.

“Oh, okay,” Patrick says as he settles in, his head leaning comfortably over the back of the couch.

“What?”

“These cushions are actually really comfortable. Can I –?”

He reaches for the final pillow: the white oblong taken straight from David’s own bed at the motel. He gets it situated under his neck, turning his face into it for just a moment to breathe in David’s scent, before settling back into a comfortable position and sighing in satisfaction.

The look on David’s face is one of pure elation and smugness as he tucks himself under Patrick’s outstretched arm and curls up against his chest.

They are quiet for a while, enjoying the rare chance at domesticity that they are so often deprived of. Patrick’s hand traces patterns into David’s shoulder until it finally stills.

“You know, we could always get some more little knick-knacks for around the office,” David mumbles, gesturing around the room with a lazy hand. “There’s no reason we shouldn’t make it comfortable in here.”

When he gets no response, he cranes his neck and finds Patrick’s mouth hung slightly ajar, his breaths slow and steady, making little snorting noises as he sleeps.

David holds his hand over his mouth to stem the short gasp he makes at the display of trust Patrick must have given him to fall asleep again. Instead, he reaches for the blanket which he had delicately balanced on the arm of the couch a few hours earlier.

He cautiously shakes it out, careful not to disturb his slumbering boyfriend, and lays it over their laps before settling in himself, his head against Patrick’s shoulder and chest, and letting himself rest.

* * *

_Item: Coat Hooks – Purely for the Customers_

* * *

The day after the open mic, David wants nothing more than to bask in the space where Patrick had laid his heart out on his guitar last night and strummed it until David felt everything inside him turn to soup. He’s pretty sure his teeth are still rotting at the thought of it, and he loves every second.

But alas, it’s not to be.

While David and Patrick had tried their hardest to create a homey atmosphere in Rose Apothecary, there were still things they’d forgotten. _Like coat hooks_ , they’re forcibly reminded as the phone rings for the tenth time in two hours.

“Hello – Jane, is it? A brown one…let’s see, does it have black or white buttons?”

“You left your hat here? Okay, we have a couple left, you can come in anytime.”

“And what color was your partner’s scarf? What do you mean, they don’t know?”

Patrick slams the phone down yet again, rolling his eyes.

“Honestly, how many people can possibly forget their belongings in one night? Do you think we should get a stand, or put up some hooks?”

David frowns. “What’s the point? It’s not like customers normally stay for that long. Mercifully _,_ the open mics are going to be very rare occurrences – wait, what the hell?”

David stalks across the store to the still-high pile of forgotten coats and hats and extracts a crumpled grey cardigan from the bottom. He holds it at arm’s length like everything else in the pile has contaminated it.

“Wha– this is mine! I – the audacity? The _disrespect?”_

The ends of David’s words inflect upwards as though each one is a question flung out to the entire town, daring them to speak up and admit which one of them was so careless towards his 2013 SS Dolce & Gabbana one-of-a-kind.

Patrick also knows that this means he can rest his case.

“Right, that’s it,” David decides, as though it was his idea. “We’re getting fucking coat hooks.”

Patrick finds a cheap wooden stand on Marketplace with rows of hooks all the way down. He lets David spray-paint it (well, he spray-paints it in David’s desired sandstone color while David points out missed spots) and it’s left to dry in the backroom. They’ll put it out front tomorrow.

Of course, they said that yesterday.

Fall starts to roll in a little faster, and soon Patrick is stamping the cold out of his feet every day as he closes the door behind him.

“Ugh, Patrick, you’re freezing!” David protests as Patrick presses a kiss to his cheek.

“And you’re in _before_ me? Never thought I’d see the day.”

“The heating is bust at the motel, so I think my body went into fight-or-flight mode and forced me out the door to somewhere warm.”

Patrick doesn’t think twice about shedding his coat and hat on the hooks in the backroom. David’s long woollen coat is already there, as well as a pair of white gloves and some thickly soled black boots that David must have walked here in.

Before long every hook is covered in something, and Patrick only really acknowledges the thing when it almost falls on top of him one day, weighed down by their collective outer garments.

“Babe, you know my waterproof coat with the blue lining?” Patrick asks David one night. They’re lying in his bed at Ray’s, reading and sipping on their preferred hot drinks.

“The one that makes you look like a camp counsellor on a skiing orientation day?”

“Not in so many words, but yes. Have you seen it recently?”

David thinks. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”

“I need it for tomorrow. I told Ray I’d go on a hike with him but it’s meant to be raining, and – damn it, I know where it is!” Patrick says, snapping his fingers.

“Where?”

“Those coat hooks.”

“Which coat hooks – oh, _our_ coat hooks? In the store?”

“Yes! Why did we never do anything with those?”

“We did, we put out stuff on it.” Then David gasps. “Wait, my gloves have been on there for weeks! I’ve been looking for them!”

They share a laugh at their procrastination.

“One of these days, we’re gonna start treating that room like a second home,” David says.

“A _second_ home? Why, is there some first home involved here?”

David blushes. “You know what I mean.”

He looks at their interlocked fingers between the bed, content and silent but for the turning of pages. Maybe there is.

* * *

_Item: Flowers, a Gesture_

* * *

The backroom becomes a safe haven for David and Patrick in the difficult months where they’re both trapped in their living conditions, desperate for privacy as well as each other.

But it ultimately becomes more than that. What with the couch for napping, and the little touches of home in their forgotten clothing on the hooks, the backroom becomes a joint space where they can co-exist out of the eye of the public.

Then suddenly, everything becomes uncertain.

Patrick knew he should have told David about Rachel; about the engagement and her trying to contact him. He honestly doesn’t know why he didn’t except for the fact that he was so scared of losing David, of stressing him out and having him self-destruct, that his omission becomes his downfall.

In the week David takes off from the store, the backroom is a haunted space, filled with reminders of his presence; the expensive jacket on the coat hooks, their shared couch. The pillow from David’s bed.

During the workday he hides from the room, remaining as much as possible in the main area of the store to stop the whole thing from overwhelming him.

But as soon as the sign is turned and the door locked, there Patrick heads. He curls up in a ball with his head on David’s cushion, grateful for the peace from Ray’s incessant cheering-up attempts and lets himself feel it.

David’s absence is felt like a thorn in his side, but it makes his return all the more important.

At first, Patrick remains cautious, unwilling to push David too far out of his comfort zone in their new understanding of trust. They both seem to avoid remaining in the backroom for long, especially not together. Despite the matter being resolved, it seems that there is still some level of trepidation in their relationship.

Eventually, in an effort to reassure his boyfriend, Patrick comes up with a plan to make him feel at home in their little sanctuary again.

On the first Tuesday, he buys a bunch of white hyacinths arranging them delicately in a glass vase borrowed from Ray, and places them on the desk in the backroom. He never sees David’s reaction to them, but the card he had placed with them is mysteriously absent when he goes to put the cash in the safe. He’s slightly put off by the fact that the flowers have been left there but says nothing that might make David uncomfortable.

One week later, he buys light red carnations after reading on the internet that they symbolise admiration. David had secured Rose Apothecary an exclusivity deal with an elusive vendor, and the flowers are meant to symbolise his pride.

The card disappears again, but the flowers remain.

The next week, a bunch of dahlias are left, meaning commitment. It just so happens that that Tuesday falls on their fifth month anniversary, but Patrick is careful not to mention that as the reason in the note.

Finally, after a month of gifting flowers, Patrick walks into work on a Monday morning to find the vase in the backroom emptied of last week’s dahlias, and instead replaced with a bunch of red roses.

He freezes in the doorway, bag still halfway over his head and frowns at them in confusion. He’s so lost in his own thoughts that he jumps a little when there is a cough from behind him, and spins on his heel to look at David, watching him with trepidation.

“Can I put my bag away?” he asks in that soft, teasing lilt of his.

“Oh – uh, yes,” Patrick says dumbly, stepping out of the way and out of the backroom without having taken his jacket and bag off.

He takes a moment to come back to life, but when he does, he follows David into the room and watches him putting his things away.

“Um – what are those?” Patrick asks, waving a hand in the direction of the flowers.

‘They look like roses,’ David replies.

“Okay – um, who are they for? Did somebody – did somebody else get them for you?”

“Why don’t you read the card?”

Patrick picks up the small ivory card that he hadn’t noticed and looks at the delicate typography of his name on the front. He opens it and has to take a deep breath to quell the tears.

_Let me do something nice for you for a change?_

_David_

When he looks up, David is watching him with a nervous expression, clearly unsure of what the response will be. “They’re for me?”

“Mm-hm.”

“But I–”

“I think the flowers really bring this room together, and I appreciate you buying them, but you don’t have to shoulder all the responsibility, Patrick. We can take it in turns.”

Patrick lets out a wet chuckle and looks down at the note again. ‘Is that why you never took them home?’ he asks, in a small voice.

David looks embarrassed, so Patrick leans up to kiss the answer out of his mouth. When they separate, it’s David’s turn to tear up.

“Patrick, what other home would I take them to?”

* * *

_Item: One Espresso Machine (Well, Not Quite)_

* * *

3.56pm

**Me**

Just got off a FaceTime call with my cousins.

You?

 **King David** ❤️✨

I’m not really sure what is going on

Mom is singing Danny Boy

Dad is crying

Bob is here? I-

I need to get out of here

**Me**

Touché. Ray is about to open up a seventh board game.

I didn’t even know there were seven board games.

Any ideas for what can be done after you’ve spent the obligatory few hours with friends & family on Christmas Day?

**King David** ❤️✨

I wish I knew, Patrick Brewer, I wish I knew

Make sure you update me when you…think of something 😉

**Me**

Oh, I will 😉

 **King David** ❤️✨

😉

**Me**

😉

 **King David** ❤️✨

Can we stop winking now

**Me**

Yeah

It’s a bit of a feat getting it together, Patrick admits. Especially on Christmas Day.

But, as always, the anticipation to the day is more enjoyable. Even in tiny Schitt’s Creek, he’s in no short supply of people who are less bothered about Christmas and would be willing to help him out.

Patrick knocks hesitantly on Ronnie’s front door, not sure what reaction his presence will get despite the fact that she knows he’s coming. He hasn’t known Ronnie for very long, but her general reception towards Patrick has been…mixed.

The door swings open.

“Key’s under the mat.”

The door swings shut.

Well. That was easy.

Patrick takes the town hall key, fumbling on the cold concrete. When he reaches the town hall, the door cracks away from the frame like it was frozen shut in the night.

Patrick’s a little underwhelmed when he picks it up. It’s not entirely all there – part of the drip collection tray is cracked off – and it’s a funny off-white color. It’s nothing like the one David and Patrick had been saving for, but he’s got no time to overthink it. He hauls it into his arms and hurries away to complete the next part of his mission.

Twyla had told everyone weeks ago that she was keeping the Café open on Christmas Day (“in case anyone missed it, or had been kicked out of their house like my brother when we were seven!”). That had given Patrick the idea to order part of David’s Christmas gift to the address, where he could keep it stocked and plugged in for a few days without raising suspicions.

Twyla smiles brightly at him as he approaches. “Hey, Patrick! I’ve got it here ready for you. Can I interest you in some eggnog before you go?”

Patrick has heard many stories about that eggnog this December, and not one of them doesn’t finish on a toilet.

“I’ve just had a whole load with Ray, actually,” he lies. ‘Thanks for keeping this safe, Twyla!”

Lastly, he’s back home to grab a few extra blankets and some candles, then when he reaches the store he texts David his location.

5.13pm

**Straight Legged Mid-Range Denim**

[Shared his location with you.]

**Me**

Um. Patrick??

I was thinking more cuddling in your bed and watching The Holiday

Why are you at the store

**Straight Legged Mid-Range Denim**

Just trust me 😊

David narrows his eyes at his phone, but then Johnny claps his hands together and calls for a family game and David knows it’s now or never.

But when he enters the store, it’s empty. The lights are out, and the streetlights that have already switched on in the midwinter afternoon darkness are doing nothing to help.

“Patrick?”

Before David has a chance to call his boyfriend, he feels the faintest flicker of heat across his cheek. It leads him towards the backroom, where the heat is growing stronger and light is beginning to seep in.

David has to stop himself from gasping aloud when he sees Patrick sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by warming candles. Behind him, a little coffee maker is sat on the desk. To his left, a mini fridge, opened and full of what looks like festive, ready-to-eat snacks.

“Patrick, what’s all this?” David says. His voice is high and reedy with giddiness.

Patrick shrugs, spreading his arms wide. “Merry Christmas, David.”

If it weren’t for the candles (and his gnawing hunger, since Dad had made a mess of dinner), David would have tackled Patrick then and there. Instead he gives him the biggest heart eyes he can intentionally muster and steps carefully over to him, mirroring his posture on the floor.

They eat pre-packaged vol-au-vents and mini sandwiches off paper plates, quietly letting it sink in that this is their first Christmas dinner together.

“I know the machine isn’t exactly the Vonshef Professional we were going for, but it’ll do for now,” Patrick says sheepishly.

David thinks about Patrick scurrying around the town to put all this together in a couple of hours, and decides that the 30-year-old crapsack of a coffee maker is even better than the Vonshef Professional. Just for today.

* * *

_Item: One Rug, Subject to Creative Differences_

* * *

In the period between Christmas day and New Year’s, there is precious little privacy for the pair. Between the whole Rose family buzzing around the motel, and Ray’s whole family sleeping on the couch and various air mattresses scattered around his house, both David and Patrick are desperate for some time alone together.

This is how they end up locking themselves in the store, just a few days after Boxing Day, and settling into the backroom together.

David audibly sighs as they close the curtain, sealing themselves in from the outside world. He turns around just as Patrick is about to collapse onto the couch and glares at him. “Don’t even think about getting on that couch with your shoes still on.”

“David! I thought you hated this couch?” Patrick replies, already toeing off his hiking shoes.

“My aversion to shoes on soft furnishing has nothing to do with this war-torn couch that you brought into our store. It’s just –”

“Incorrect. I know,” Patrick says with a smile. “Now, the shoes are off. Can I sit down, or do I need to take more clothes off for you?”

“You may sit down,” David says with a haughty look. “But don’t get too comfortable; the rest of your clothes are on thin ice.”

Patrick ends up laid out across the couch, with David draped against his side, his face in his neck as they cuddle together in the blessed silence of the store. He’s just running his fingers down the hair at the back of David’s head, when his boyfriend turns to look up at him.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” Patrick replies, slowing his movements and moving to stroke David’s cheek with his thumb.

They both close their eyes, and soon enough Patrick is nodding off; the solid warmth of David’s body over him soothing him more than any blanket ever could.

He’s woken up to David hissing and hopping around as he clambers off Patrick’s body. ‘What’re you doing?’ he asks, rubbing the sleep out of his eye and watching his boyfriend do a little dance.

“Ugh, the floor is so cold,” David whines, hopping into Patrick’s shoes which are far less complicated to lace up than his own, before rushing off to the bathroom.

When he returns to tuck himself back in at Patrick’s side, he’s shivering slightly, with a deep frown between his eyebrows. Patrick strokes the wrinkles on his forehead to smooth them out and cuddles David that little bit tighter in an attempt to warm him up.

It’s in this moment that he gets the idea.

A few days later, the decrepit remains of the Christmas decorations are all that remain of the festive season in Rose Apothecary. David is moodily putting the left-over stock into boxes for next year and tidying up the store after the carnage of the post-Christmas sales when his boyfriend comes traipsing in, red in the face and beaming.

He struggles with a roll of fabric, far larger than himself, and finally clambers through the doorway.

“Um, what is that?” David asks, looking on aghast as Patrick holds it aloft in celebration.

“This is a rug, David. It typically goes on the floor.”

“Why are you bringing this –” He cuts off as Patrick puts the rug into his waving hands, and he stumbles to keep it upright. “– monstrosity. Into our store?” Patrick looks slightly hurt by this, and David tries to make it better. “I mean– I – what would compel you to do this?”

“You had cold feet?” Patrick says.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, so– I can get rid of it, or something, it wasn’t expensive and I’m sure –”

“No – no, I want the rug. Don’t get rid of the rug.” David curls it against his body defensively, causing Patrick to smile.

“Okay. I’ll be in the backroom making space for it, are you okay on the shop floor?” Patrick says with childish glee. David clumsily leans the roll against the wall and nods.

“You mean the deserted store? I think I’ll cope.”

For the rest of the day, Patrick makes an unholy amount of noise crashing around in the back room. Whenever David tries to intervene or offer his services (or Ronnie’s services), Patrick denies him entry by catching him in the doorway and kissing him until he’s off-guard enough to be pushed back to the counter.

Finally, just as David is locking the front door, Patrick emerges victorious.

“Are you ready to come and see it, David?” he asks, smiling.

David nods silently and lets his boyfriend lead him to the room by the hand. When he arrives, he sees a red floral rug spread out across the width of the room.

“Oh my God–” David murmurs.

Patrick frowns, putting his hands on his hips. “I know it’s not something you might choose, and I can get rid of it if you –”

“Did you have to move _everything_ in this room to get it to fit? Did you move the _shelving unit_?” he asks, his hands over his mouth in shock.

“Well yeah, I – you were cold, and this is soft, and I know sock feet in a public place isn’t correct, but this is kind of our private area and I wanted you to be comfortable here.”

David cuts him off by yanking him in by the shoulders for a kiss, which Patrick melts into. He pulls back and carefully unties his sneakers, placing them to one side before stepping on the rug.

“I love it,” he says. “I love you.”

It’s not lost on Patrick that this is one of the first times those words have been said unprompted. He smiles his pleased smile and joins David on the rug.

“Well, I love you too.”

* * *

_Item: Wall Art – Like it’s a Real House, or Something_

* * *

Patrick can already tell that David is having an off week.

It started with the robbery-that-wasn’t-quite-a-robbery on Monday. They’d had a fight about it when they came home, and even though they’d smoothed things over now David still entered the store like he was toeing over cracked ice.

Then Tuesday had brought in a horde of Karens who had absolutely refused to believe that David was the manager and made comments about his clothes. That was somehow slightly worse than the robbery.

When the first customer of the day on Wednesday asked him a stupid question, he’d whirled round, snapped “I don’t work here!” and stormed into the back.

He’d also noticed that it was the backroom, now, that David turned to for solace. It was like he had a Pavlovian reaction to the mishmash of David and Patrick’s belongings, their characteristics jumping out of the ugly couch and coffee maker and the monthly flowers. The room was like a physical manifestation of that photo Ted had taken of them on his fancy Canon DSLR camera, one where David’s arms were draped over Patrick’s shoulders, their cheeks pressed together contentedly.

Seeing David wrap himself up in the room (and literally wrapping himself into a blanket burrito) gives Patrick an idea. One he knew Ray would be able to sort out with lightning speed.

‘Hey David, why don’t you take the rest of the day off?’ Patrick says, stepping into the breakroom. He lowers himself to the couch and cuddles the heap of blanket that David has become. He pulls the blanket back and presses three kisses to the top of his head. ‘It’s quiet today, and I know you’re stressed out.’

David hmphs in acknowledgement, wrestling his way out of the blanket. Patrick’s heart aches to see that his face is a little tearstained.

“I just…I can’t with this week. I need a break.”

Patrick strokes his cheek gently. “I know, baby. You can take my key if you want, get yourself into bed. I don’t think Ray’s home.”

_Well, he won’t be for long._

He shoots a quick text and a photo to Ray, heavily hinting that David stops at the Café for something to eat before getting into Patrick’s bed.

While David is on his forced detour, Patrick meets Ray halfway in the street and is surprised but also not surprised at all to find that Ray has already printed the picture and was just about to find Patrick to let him pick a frame.

After a quiet night of snacks and gentle affirmations, David arrives into work the next day with his usual pep.

Patrick waits for it.

And waits for it.

And –

“Where did _this_ come from?”

Patrick practically springs into the backroom. David is staring open-mouthed at the full-sized photo of the two of them that Ted had taken, framed in matte gray.

“I may have had ulterior motives to sending you away yesterday,” Patrick admits. “Do you like it?”

 _“Like_ it? Patrick, why didn’t we think of this before?” David scans the rest of the wall. It’s admittedly boring; some of the plywood beneath the dull paint is exposed. The construction company’s watermark can still be seen clearly. 

To Patrick’s surprise, David takes the picture back down.

“How long have we been open? Thirty minutes? Okay, we’re closed now.”

Patrick almost protests, but he’s intrigued. Plus, when David decides it’s a week off, he is powerless against that.

David instructs Patrick to get another couple of frames from Ray and print out his favorite photos and paintings, while he dashes home to grab an unopened piece of art he’d ordered for the wall above his bed.

Patrick is rushed off his feet while David runs laps around him, more proactive than Patrick has ever seen him before. They open old cans of paint and give the walls a once-over, scrawling doodles and signatures and cheesy ‘D ❤️ P’s before hooking up the pictures and paintings.

“Jeez, David, look at the time.”

“The time? Look at the sky, Patrick! How long have we been in here?”

Patrick squints his eyes at the pitch-black out the windows and realizes how much his arms are aching. Exhaustion seems to wash over them both at the same time and they flop down onto the couch, sighing.

 _“Why_ did we just spend six and a half hours decorating the wall of this room?” Patrick groans.

“All that, and we still need to get some better frames,” David teases.

Patrick shakes his head fondly and hits David with a cushion.

“Are we still on for mine? You did say you’d finally watch Inception with me tonight,” Patrick says.

David opens his mouth to answer, then closes it. He looks around the room.

“Hm. Yours. Or we – we could just stay here? We could order pizza. I have my laptop.”

Patrick considers this, thinks about how they wouldn’t have to worry about Ray intruding or be extra quiet. He smiles, pulls up the number for the pizza place and closes the backroom door.

“Sure, we can stay.”

They wrap the blanket around themselves and spend the rest of the night trading pizza toppings and bickering about whether David really had said he’d watch Inception. If they both thought the only thing missing in here now was a bed, then neither said anything.

* * *

_Item: A Book. And Another Book. And Another Book._

* * *

David swears as the wooden panel slips through his hand for a third time, catching his thumb which is already blooming with a blue bruise.

He shoves the contraption away and stands up from his place on the floor, exiting the backroom of the store and giving himself a moment to breathe.

It was meant to be a nice thing. Patrick had done so much for their little backroom oasis, and David had been feeling like he hadn’t been contributing enough. He needed Patrick to know that he was just as committed to their shared space as his boyfriend had proved himself to be.

David first noticed on an evening at Ray’s. Patrick had settled into the bed, allowing David to use the bathroom for his nightly skincare regime. Usually, this would be an opportunity for Patrick to read whatever book he’s been working on. Then, when David re-enters the room, he would do that familiar fond smile, put the book away, and make room for David to join him for some more interesting activities.

This particular evening, however, Patrick seems restless. First, he follows David into the bathroom to watch him do his skincare. Then, when that takes too long, he heads downstairs for another cup of tea, before returning and fluttering around the bedroom tidying up. When David enters, he frowns as he sees Patrick digging around in his drawers clearly looking for something.

“What – what is happening here?” he asks, dropping his dirty laundry into his overnight bag and straightening up to look at his boyfriend.

“Ugh, nothing. I just – I took my book to work, and then I had it during my break, but now I can’t find it anywhere, and I don’t know where it is.”

“Okay – do we need to go back to the store and look for it now?

Patrick sighs, looking like he is half considering the offer, but ultimately shakes his head.

“Thank God. How about I give you something else to focus on?” David asks, approaching him teasing eyes and wrapping his arms around Patrick’s shoulders.

“Oh, and what would that be?”

“Maybe you’d like to hear me talk about the upcoming Givenchy spring collection or hmph–”

Before he can finish that sentence, Patrick tackles him backwards onto the bed and all talk of the missing book is forgotten.

On his next day off, when the store is closed, David takes a trip out of town to the supermarket on the hunt for a bookcase. He finds a small wooden stand that would sit fine on top of a shelf or on the desk, that is relatively cheap, and sets about building it.

It’s here, in the backroom of the store, that Patrick finds him, sucking on his bruised thumb and glaring at the assorted pieces of wood with vengeance.

“David? What’s all this?”

David jumps, turning around to face the music with a guilty expression on his face. “You weren’t supposed to see it yet, it’s not been set up!”

“Well it looks like that might take a while, David. What are you trying to make? You know I wasn’t kidding when I said we couldn’t have a cedar chest for the breakroom, I think that might be taking it just a step too far.”

“It’s not a cedar chest!” David says huffily, crossing his arms. “It’s a bookshelf.”

Patrick takes another step forward with a curious expression on his face. “David, why are you making a bookshelf in the back room of the store?”

“You know, I think I could just donate all this wood to Roland. I’m sure he has a fire pit somewhere that he can throw it in,” David says, looking at the pile with dismay. “Let’s just forget this ever happened.”

Patrick sighs and resumes his usual place, circling his arms around David’s waist and holding him steady. “David,” he says in a warning tone.

“It’s so that you don’t keep losing your books,” David said sadly. “I know you wouldn’t keep them all here, but it means that when you do you would know where they were, and then you wouldn’t lose them anymore.”

“You did that for me?”

“Well – I mean, not just for you. I might bring a book in every so often.”

Patrick rolls his eyes at David’s obvious diversion but smiles softly at him. “You should have just told me, I could have come and helped you set it up.”

David pulls a pleased face. “Well, you’re here now, so if you insist on helping then I guess I can’t exactly stop you.”

Within the next couple of weeks, the small stand is constantly cluttered by books; hardback non-fiction about various sports teams for Patrick, the odd thriller for David. It’s heart-warming to see their belongings tangled together in such a way, and the sight seems to cement something for Patrick. He wants to be tangled up with David for as long as possible.

* * *

_Item: Cardboard Boxes, for New Beginnings_

* * *

Finally, Patrick convinces Ray to leave them alone, _door closed,_ so that they can actually get out of bed. Their lazy domestic morning is ruined, and Patrick’s mood isn’t much better, but he refuses to let it get to him.

“Right, well. Since we can’t get any privacy around here, what do you say we head to the store for a while?”

David nods immediately, clambering out of the bed with an impressive amount of speed for David Rose in the morning, rushing out to the bathroom to do an aborted version of his skincare routine. Patrick chuckles as he watches his boyfriend go, and dresses for the day.

After an uncomfortable breakfast, wherein Patrick’s mood is only worsened by the sorry state of the eggs Ray had promised, they finally make it to the store to fulfil their lazy day-off plans.

Thanks to the new bookshelf, there is already plenty to do. They quickly get into position with Patrick sat at one end of the old couch with David curled up under his arm, both of them absorbed in their own stories, but elated to be together regardless. 

After a while, Patrick breaks the silence, peering over David’s shoulder to get a glance at his book. 

“What is that you’re reading?” He asks, giving him a little nudge with his shoulder.

“It’s Giovanni’s Room.” 

“Is it good?”

David turns to peer up at his boyfriend. “This is maybe my fifth read of it, and I’m not sure ‘good’ would be the word I’d use to describe it, but yes, it’s enjoyable. More enjoyable than whatever drivel you’re reading I’m sure.”

Patrick smirks down at him, and David rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth quirks up slightly, betraying his amusement. 

“You know, you might be right, David. I might give up on it, but this is a rare chance at privacy for us. I wouldn’t want to waste it.”

David huffs slightly. “Our one chance at privacy and all you want to do is read? I’m trying really hard not to be offended right now.”

“Do you have another suggestion, David?”

“I’m sure I could come up with something.”

Their lips are just about to brush when there’s a loud knock heard from the front door of the store. Patrick freezes, frowning at the curtain.

“What was that?”

“Who cares? We’re closed, they’ll get the message. Now, where were we?”

Patrick smiles, letting himself get drawn back into the warmth of David’s embrace. He kisses David softly, getting lost in the familiar sensation of his boyfriend’s lips, before there is another shattering knock.

“Oh my God,” David growls, tipping his head back in annoyance.

“I should go and--”

“Yes! Get rid of them!”

David pushes Patrick up from the couch. He gives one last promising look before stepping behind the curtain and heading to the door, where he can see Roland peering through the small windows. 

“Hi Roland, we’re closed right now sorry, can you come back tomorrow?” He says, opening it just a crack to make his point clear.

Roland doesn’t take the hint, and shoulders his way into the shop. “Well, you’re here, and I’m here. I’m sure you can help out a buddy. Now, I was looking for some of that foot cream that Dave sold me last week- I’ve run out already, I’m sure you can guess why.” He laughs his abrasive laugh, and Patrick represses a shudder.

“Uhh...okay. I think we have some new in the back that we - _ahem_ \- made a double order of.”

Patrick steps through the curtain to see David still sitting on the couch, glaring at him. 

“You let him in?” He hisses.

“I didn’t have much choice, David! I’ll just get the cream and then he’ll leave!”

“And while you’re at it, tell him it’s _David.”_

“Is that really a battle you want to fight right now?”

David considers. “...No. He might get his nasty-ass feet out, and I’m powerless against that.”

“But David, your nasty-ass feet are out right now?” Patrick says with a teasing grin, as he digs through one of the boxes on the hunt for the foot cream.

“That’s offensive. Get out of here, and while you’re at it get _rid_ of him.”

“Okay, David,” Patrick says, heading around the curtain again. _This is the final straw_ , he thinks as he finally shoos Roland out of the store. It’s time to find an apartment.

The apartment viewings over the next few days with Ray go about as well as to be expected. David trails after Patrick, not entirely sure if his input is welcome. He stays quiet, worried that speaking up would annoy Patrick enough to ban him from the apartment, along with the rest of the town. It was irrational, but he’d grown so used to being with him in the backroom that losing it would feel like a step back.

They finally agree on one that Patrick likes, and that David would be willing to tolerate on the few nights a week he would be there. He has to admit, it’s pretty cute. Warm and compact and cosy. Kind of like Patrick. The exposed brick fireplace reminds David of a very expensive French restaurant he frequented in New York, a fact that Patrick finds incredibly amusing and takes as David’s approval.

It’s well past 2pm when they get back to the Main Street, so they give up on the idea of opening back up again that day. Patrick is getting increasingly concerned about the financial viability of this many days off dedicated to decorating and looking for living spaces.

They go in nevertheless, and it’s here, on the main floor of Rose Apothecary, that David finally brings it up.

“I know this is meant to be your apartment, Patrick, but I hope you don’t mind me invading your personal space, like, every other night.”

Patrick is still. His eyes are fixed in thought.

David’s panic angles up a little. “I mean, it’s up to you,” he amends. “I wasn’t saying I’m gonna move in or anything. If I took it too far then I’m -”

“David, what if you _did_ move in?”

David goes offline for a second. “I’m sorry, what?”

Patrick turns to face him, resolve in his face. “I mean, come on. We’re together almost twenty-four seven anyway. You wouldn’t be invading my personal space. The space is only personal with you in it.”

David blinks back tears, an embarrassing amount of warmth creeping up his face.“Okay, you can’t just _say_ things like that.”

Patrick sighs with mock reflection. “Ah, but I _can,_ so I do,” he says, turning to face David in full and pulling him in for a kiss. 

“Okay, but are you sure? Because nobody that I’ve ever dated has ever expressed any interest in that. I just don’t want you to make this rash decision and end up regretting it,” he says as they pull back, wincing a bit and fiddling with his rings.

“David, I want to live with you. I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t, I want to do this with you. I understand if you’re not ready, I know this is a lot for you and I-”

David cuts him off by pulling him back in for another kiss. He kisses Patrick with all the force of his emotions, and feels his boyfriend finally relax.

“I want that too,” he says, watching Patrick’s face bloom in front of him. “I mean, that apartment is way too small for the rest of our lives but-”

“The rest of our lives?”

“Relationship. I said relationship.”

“Oh, sure,” Patrick says, with a teasing grin. “Well, this doesn’t have to be for the rest of our relationship, David. We can negotiate. Down the line.”

David smiles, only just wrapping his head around the idea that he and Patrick are actually going to be moving in together. 

Hand-in-hand and almost too distracted by each other to notice anything but their joint connection, they head to Ray’s to sign the tenancy papers. 

It’s only when David is standing amidst a load of empty cardboard boxes in the backroom that he wonders why he was so giddy about him and Patrick moving in together. See, that excitement had stemmed from the thought that that was something they’d be doing for the first time.

The thing is, they’d already done it once before, but they didn’t even know it.

It had happened like sleeping, like the line from that John Green book. Slowly, then all at once. 

Patrick had mentioned that there was way too much stuff in the backroom for him to be wasting money on new possessions. The cushions, the photos, the mini fridge, the bookshelf; they’re all to box up and migrate to a new home, one that people will actually acknowledge as theirs. David had felt a little bashful talking about the backroom ever since Alexis had teased him for it, like it was the cringey product of a drawn-out honeymoon phase. 

If that was the case, then why did David feel so miserable taking it to pieces?

They don't say much until the very last box is packed, the room eventually looking as generic an office as any. After Ronnie stops by to help Patrick take the couch to the skip (while it was comfortable, utilising it beyond a private office space was far beyond David's idea of correct), the only thing left is the brighter paint on the walls.

Then suddenly it's dinner time, and David and Patrick wanted to collect the keys before Ray closes up for the day so they could eat takeout on the floor of their new apartment.

David looks at the room one last time. No one else has ever been in here, not even Stevie. It’s his and Patrick’s. It _is_ theirs, and it always will be. It’s evidence that they exist behind closed doors as well, a tangible presence of _them._

He loves it all. The ugly couch. _Still only for very necessary occasions._ The coat hooks. _A soothing reminder that they’re always in and out of here._ The flowers. _Because you don’t get to decide when you’ve hurt someone._ The wall art. _Because you also don’t get to decide how much they love you._ They all meld together as a physical representation of how they have grown together, and will continue to bloom for the rest of their relationship.

Patrick steps behind him and wraps his arms around David’s waist.

“Is it silly that I kind of feel like we’re moving house?”

David’s throat is unexpectedly tight. He clamps his lips together and shakes his head. “No. No, I don’t think so." Then, quieter, "This is where we started our lives together.”

He knows all too well that this room, in their store, in this town is where they’ll continue their lives as well, and eventually end them. And he’ll never let that thought go. 

He’s learned far too much about how lovers will do anything to create.


End file.
